To Live Another Day
by FallenRose24
Summary: A scene I'm hoping to see in the Season 8 finale: Surrounded by death and agony, Arizona struggles to stay alive.


The smell made her stomach churn – charred wood, gasoline, burned hair and flesh. The only thing distracting her from the painful combination was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth that oozed from her bitten tongue, mingling with the iron liquid that trailed down her face and dripped on her lips. Her vision was blurred. She had no bearings, no inkling of what had happened; all she felt was pain.

_I'm not going anywhere, I promise._

Her face - that beautiful, caramel-colored face – framed by flowing locks of ebony suddenly took over her view of the world. All she could think of was Calliope and that suddenly gave her strength. It gave her the strength to push down the pain enough to turn her head, to look at the carnage that lay before her prone body. Metal sheered, branches broken, and the distant gut-wrenching screams of _"Derek!"_ suffocated her.

That's when she noticed what she couldn't feel.

Her legs.

She wanted to get away, wanted to get as far away from the devastation so she could pretend it wasn't real, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't move. An ounce of relief flooded her as her arms at least flailed, reaching in vain for purchase somewhere in the sky, but she couldn't get up. And she couldn't feel her legs.

_Whatever you can't do, I will._

She suddenly lost control of her voice as frightened screams ran from her lips. She had to get up – this couldn't be real. This had to be a nightmare, or maybe it was a cruel way of proving to her that she was right, that there was no God. No benevolent God could exist who would let the promise of forever be spoken by her wife just hours before her death. Callie has promised to never leave, she had promised her a lifetime, and Arizona would be dammed if she didn't give her love every chance to make good on that offer.

She reached up again, her fingers curling around the heated metal of the airplane's staircase. Her hand burned, but the relief of finding leverage eased her pain. Her screams become those of desperate determination as she began to lift her torso. She could vaguely feel the pressure of strong hands at her back, helping her the rest of the way, but her senses were too focused on what lay before her to fully comprehend all of her surroundings.

The airtight door she had walked through only hours before lay across her legs, her blood smeared against the edges. Panic began to bubble in her chest, but before it overflowed, she saw the blurred image of dark and light blue rush in front of her. She wobbled, suddenly aware of the lack of support behind her back, as her eyes began to clear well enough for her to see them. Mark and Cristina. Both bleeding, both bruised, both saving her life. Mark gripped an edge of the door and waited as Cristina finished tying tourniquets across her calves before he began to lift the crushing heap of metal with a pained moan.

A rough hand was on her cheek and all she could think about was how much she wished it was the familiar, soft touch of her Calliope. Light eyes looked into hers, not the beautiful dark pools that could still her breath and ignite her heart. Small, nimble hands roamed her body, not the strong fingers that could break bones and caress her skin with the gentleness of an angle's kiss.

"Her legs are in bad shape, but I think she's okay."

"You sure?"

"Bruised ribs, maybe, and leg reflexes are diminished, but she'll probably live."

"Probably? This is the mother of my kid, Yang! I'm not settling for _probably_!"

"The bleeding's slowing down, so as long as Search and Rescue actually finds us, she'll live."

They were talking about her. A part of her was aware of that, but she couldn't focus. All she could think of was her wife, her beautiful wife and the miniature version of her who had filled her heart with so much joy. Her legs still had some motor response? She would live? If they were rescued? They had to be rescued. She had a family, a wife, a child… a life still unfinished.

"Arizona?"

Mark. She could see his worried face begin to bleed through the beautiful image in her mind's eye.

"Arizona, I need you to say something. Anything."

"Ca-Calliope…"

Her throat was parched from all the screaming and her lips were sticky with dried residue of blood and tears.

"I'll get you back to her." Her eyes suddenly saw him. "I promise."

She could feel her body being moved, her back being settled against a cooled part of the plane. Mark's sad eyes never left hers; it was strangely comforting. She could see worry, but she could also see relief. He didn't think she was going to die and that brought her a moment of peace.

"I... I n-need… Callio… pe…" Her bloody fingers gripped his dirt-caked scrub top. "P-please…"

His large hand cupped her face and a rough thumb slowly caressed her cheek, wiping away the blood and tears that had made a trail there.

"I know, but you need to hang in there, okay? Our plane went down halfway to Idaho, so that's got to have set off some alarm bells. We're going to get out of here and I'm going to make sure you end up back in Callie's arms. You hear me, Blondie?"

That annoying nickname made her lips twitch upward in a pained smile. His nerves were easing – that was a good sign. Maybe she would survive.

"Just stay here and don't move."

And so she did, she stayed there alone with her back against the plane, trying to convince herself to pray. She had done it for Callie, maybe she could do it for herself. She wanted to live. She wanted to see her daughter grow up, see her go to prom in the most beautiful gown that money could buy, see her go to college and graduate, get into med school and become an amazing PEDs surgeon just like her Momma… see her discover herself. Was she gay, straight, or bi? Did she like Barbie or Hot Wheels? Was she good at science or a literature nerd? Did she like to play music? How about sports? Good old lesbian softball cliché? Did that run in their family? She didn't know the answer to any of it – she still had so much to experience.

She wanted to live.

She wanted more tomorrows with Calliope, wanted to feel her lips again, her hands on her body. She wanted to hear the sweet, Spanish nothings that would be kissed against her ear after they had made love. She wanted to know what they would look like when they grew old together, if they would develop the same wrinkles from all the times they had made each other laugh, if they would defiantly dye their hair until they were 80… She wanted to know what they would look like, pregnant with another baby – one that was only theirs.

She wanted to live.

She needed a sign so that she would believe she would live.

Her prayer to no one was interrupted by a shadow that stretched across her thighs as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. Fingers? Suddenly, she looked above her, a wave of dizziness clouding over her at the quick movement. There was a hand, an arm dangling out of a broken window. She recognized the black suit and the brass cufflinks.

The pilot.

Bile rose in her throat as she tore her eyes away from the sight of death. That wasn't the sign she asked for. Her mind suddenly filled with doubt, her breath coming quicker as her loneliness in this darkening wreckage become more and more frighteningly apparent. She lost all grasp of rational thought and so when she heard tear-filled screams call out into the void, she couldn't help but join in.

"_Derek!"_

"_Lexie!"_

"Calliope!"

* * *

How long had it been? She couldn't tell. A few hours? The sun was lower, casting a chilling glow of reddish-orange against the leaves of the sheltering trees. The sound of tears had ceased and she found herself only half-heartedly wondering if her friends had cried themselves to exhaustion like she had or if they were…

A powerful wind took over, brushing her hair across her face and throwing the discarded, blood-stained tourniquets into the air. She wasn't sure what was happening, her mind too starved, thirsty, and beaten to focus clearly. It wasn't until she heard the crunching of leaves that her ears allowed her to hear the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

"Arizona!"

A soft, gentle and strong hand cupped her cheek. Dazzling brown eyes drowning in tears stared into her. Preciously tender lips caressed hers and her head was placed against a comforting chest. The strong _thump-thump_ of a heart beating love beneath her ear brought her home.

"Calliope…"

She could feel fingers weave into her hair as soft kisses blessed whatever skin they could reach on her face. Her own hand reached up slowly, resting against her wife's chest so she could caress the Latina's collarbone. She could feel her. She was real.

"When I said I would do whatever you couldn't, I didn't mean live!"

Startled, Arizona pulled back just enough to look into her wife's agonized face.

"If you can't live, neither can I, Arizona. Neither can I."

She couldn't help the small smile that crept over her blood-coated mouth. Slowly, she leaned forward, tasting the salty tears on her Calliope's lips. When her lung burned for air, she pulled back and pressed her wounded forehead against her lover's.

"I can live. For you, I can live." She placed a chaste kiss on those sweet lips again. "I will never leave."

A strangled sound of bittersweet relief from the woman before her filled her ears as Callie stroked her hair softly. It was so familiar, the steady rhythm of that gentle hand soothing her pain. This was how she fell asleep every night she was beside her wife. Callie would run her fingers through her golden locks, lulling her into a sweet serenity as they both closed their eyes, or she would wake up when Arizona would sneak into their room after a long shift just so she could stroke the anguish of hard day out of her wife's soul.

Laying her weary head against Callie's strong heartbeat, she let her eyes drift shut, blind and deaf to the sounds of the Search and Rescue team around them.

"Calliope?"

"Yeah, sweetie?" The pet name filled her with a relaxing warmth.

"I really hate flying."

The younger surgeon couldn't help but laugh. She wrapped her arms a little tighter around her wife, mindful of her potentially injured ribs, and kissed the top of her head. A sense of humor in the midst of all this death and destruction – that was something only her Arizona could manage. It gave Callie hope that they would make it through this.

Arizona sighed as she basked in the security her wife's arms brought her. The smell was gone, the cries of pain were no longer begging to fall from her lips, the shadow of death no longer reached over her thighs… all she could smell, hear, and see was Calliope. Her past. Her present. Her future.

Her life.

She was alive.


End file.
